


When it doesn't hurt to feel this way

by Meh_tis



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Hope, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meh_tis/pseuds/Meh_tis
Summary: There is light, and warmth, at the hearth of Winter. Inthis night, that is different from all the others.





	When it doesn't hurt to feel this way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sylphidine_Gallimaufry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry/gifts).



It was a perfect winter night, the deep blue of the sky embroidered with sparkling little crystals. A fresh dusting of snow covered everything, gleaming softly.

The house sat surrounded by trees like a sleeping animal. It was a little isolated from the other ones in the neighborhood, well-kept two storey family homes with tidy yards. A slender figure emerged from its shadows, strolling forward leisurely. Golden eyes trailed up the façade, taking in the decorations with a dispassionate expression. Strings of fairy lights run the entire length of the building, glinting in the dark. Someone had taken great care in the display: it wasn’t a professional one by any means, but it held a lovely, homely charm nonetheless.

That cool gaze glided over the window panes, illuminated by the glow coming from the fireplace. The inhabitants of the house had gathered around it, black silhouettes in front of the fire. Two kids in their pajamas, a boy and a girl, had temporarily abandoned their presents scattered on the floor and were instead feeding wrapping paper to the flames, under strict supervision from their parents. They let out squeals of delight, running away from the sudden bursts of heath and collecting more paper to fuel the fire.  Drops of candlelight in the room reflected on the ornaments of the tree standing in one corner.

The Boogeyman felt strangely detached from all of it; this lovely scene, that he would have enjoyed ruining  just a few years back. Everything felt so distant. He didn’t move when he heard footsteps approaching. He didn’t react as a rough voice broke the silence around them.

“You cannot touch them tonight, Pitch.”

“And why is that?” he spat back, more out of habit than anything. “Do tell me, oh mighty Guardian of Wonder. Do you think that having lost my Nightmares will stop me?”

As he turned his head, he was met with a small smile. But the look of those bright blue eyes fixed on him also held something else; an ancient, deep pain.

Pitch’s whole being responded to that. He could feel the cold of the night clinging to his robes, seeping through them until it reached his bones. An inescapable ache filled every last part of him. He reminded himself that he could not really _feel_ anything, not anymore. Still, the expression of the man in front of him shifted slightly, as if he could see his reaction to the invisible pressure weighing down on him, constricting until he would break down and leave only black shards behind.

Pitch found he couldn’t bear that look, so he turned towards the window again. All the family was now huddled together on the couch. The children were falling asleep in their parents’ arms, the previous excitement of their movements slowing down to almost stillness. He could make out their peaceful expressions in the fading glow. Even this sight stirred something in him: phantom sensations of a warm, small body pressed to his, and the need to protect someone so vulnerable swelling in his chest. A voice calling out to him, full of delight. It was like the memory of a long forgotten dream. Pitch closed his eyes. He waited.

“You can’t touch them.” North said finally, in that same low voice. “You know tonight is not like any other night. Tonight their dreams will be filled with joy, and their hearts with hope. There is no place for fear or sadness here.”

The Nightmare King laughed, a feeble thing even to his own ears.

“So you have come to threaten me? Will you chase me away? Will you fight me, Cossack?” he asked, anger lost in the strain of his voice. He looked back at the towering figure in front of him.

“No, old friend. I am not going to fight you this time.”

Light was raining down on North from above, playing strangely with his features. The lines of his face came in and out of focus, creating the illusion of darker hair, a leaner frame, a younger version of him somehow. One that still had the same burning, fiery eyes. Pitch knew how they glinted, sharp and hard like steel when they surveyed the battlefield. And oh, what reverence, what love and tenderness they could show in other moments; it was almost too much for those who happened to witness it. But even these memories were an echo of a time so long ago Pitch couldn’t even remember it. All he could feel at this point was weariness, as if he had walked this Earth from then until this very moment, until he had forgotten all he had known, and what was left was a shadow, weeping alone in the night.

The Guardian looked up, observed the fairy lights.

“You know the light shines brighter thanks to the darkness. The spark of wonder can be born from this, something so small in a place so unexpected.”

He looked back at Pitch, careful, like he was trying to convey an important message.

“There is light, and warmth, at the hearth of Winter. In _this night_ , that is different from all the others. People gather to celebrate this miracle; to remind themselves that no matter how difficult the times are, there is still something beyond.”

Pitch was so tired. He felt a soft caress on his cheek, another ghost of sensation, but this time it was real, and it made him shiver.

“So you just want me gone.” he said. It sounded fragile. He could almost see the reflection of his own golden eyes in North’s gaze.

“No, old friend.” North smiled, fondness and sadness laced in his voice. “Darkness is also needed at this time. But this once, to serve wonder, and not fear.”

A kiss, searing hot on Pitch’s forehead.

“I want you to rest. Only this one night. Please.”

After that prayer, North was gone.

 All was quiet. Pitch did not mind being alone again, because now, looking back at the sky, he did not feel abandoned anymore. There was a small flicker of warmth in his chest: he didn’t know where it had come from, or why, but he wanted to hold it close. The moon shone dimly on the snow, rays reflecting off glittering crystals: a wonderland bathed in light. A sigh escaped his lips. _Rest._

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Hurts - All I Want for Christmas Is New Year's Day


End file.
